


writing about the past for the future tense, hashtag not-a-red-shirt problems

by islndgurl777



Category: 12 Monkeys (TV)
Genre: F/M, I low-key shipped them until this plot bunny bit my ass and now I high-key ship them, Post-Finale, Time Travel, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islndgurl777/pseuds/islndgurl777
Summary: It starts with a book.The package it comes in seems innocuous enough. No return address, but Deacon’s birthday is coming up, and a gift wouldn’t be completely unexpected. There’s no card, but he figures whoever sent it will reveal themselves eventually.“Agent Otter vs The Traveler,” he reads the title, brow furrowed as he studies the cover.
Relationships: Deacon/Jennifer Goines
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title adapted from a Jennifer Goines quote. You will also recognize some dialogue from the show, as well as several pop-culture references.
> 
> My roommate (shout out to her for the beta!) and I took about a week to watch this show, and it blew my fucking mind. I love it so much. This idea came to me as I was trying to get to sleep the other night. I couldn't settle until I at least had the layout done, and then I spent 12 hours the next day writing it. Then two hours the day after that writing the deleted scenes (which I'll post as a separate chapter). It would not leave me alone, so I hope you all like it!

**2043**

It starts with a book.

The package it comes in seems innocuous enough. No return address, but Deacon’s birthday is coming up, and a gift wouldn’t be completely unexpected. There’s no card, but he figures whoever sent it will reveal themselves eventually.

“Agent Otter vs The Traveler,” he reads the title, brow furrowed as he studies the cover. It’s red with a silhouette of two men with guns facing off against each other. He rolls his eyes. It looks a little campy for his taste, almost like one of those noir novels that had been real popular, what, a century ago, though this is clearly a newly-printed book. He flips it over to read the description on the back.

_ Agent Cole Otter travels back in time to the year 2015, where he believes he can stop an apocalyptic plague before it kills 7 billion people. He teams up with brilliant virologist Dr. Cassie Riley who believes she can help him stop the catastrophe that’s destined to kill her, but a sinister stranger, The Traveler, seems to always be one step ahead. Can Agent Otter and Dr. Riley race time itself to save the fate of the planet? _

Deacon’s brow furrows as he reads the blurb, his heart pounding wildly for a reason he can’t explain. “No, they can’t,” he murmurs to himself, knuckles white from gripping the book so tight.

His phone rings, startling him into dropping the book. He takes a deep breath and the tightness in his chest loosens; he had been holding his breath. With a shake of his head, he pulls his phone out of his back pocket and answers, but his eyes keep sliding over to the book lying on his counter. It’s a quick enough call, his brother reminding him about their appointments tomorrow for their tux fittings.. He assures him he’ll be there, says goodbye, and hangs up, breathing shakily as he continues to stare at the book.

“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself. Why is he having such a strong reaction to this book? Has he read it before? It feels strangely familiar, the premise striking fear into his heart that can’t be explained. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, a flash of a pale face and dark hair crossing his mind before he reopens them, steadfastly refusing to look in the direction of the book again.

He’s not into horror stories, and despite the blurb indicating it’s more sci-fi, he knows this story is a bloody one. 

He’ll drop it off with his next box of donations.

/

He doesn’t drop it off with his next box of donations.

His junk mail piles up on top of it over the course of the next month. Deacon can’t bring himself to pick it up, even to move it, so it stays on the counter where he’d dropped it. The most he can do to forget it’s there is to cover it with other things he can afford to forget about.

He can’t forget about it though. It’s always in the back of his mind, worming his way into his thoughts whenever he’s not busy enough to hold them off. The characters’ names run in a loop through his mind: Cole Otter and Cassie Riley. There’s something about them that seems just slightly...off, though he can’t explain why, and he’s not going to pick up the book again to try to figure it out. 

The mail piles up, nearly obscuring the book in its entirety, but he knows it’s still there. It’s calling to him with a soft, husky voice that sends shivers down his spine. 

/

The night of his brother’s wedding, he finally picks it up again.

He’s just drunk enough that his fear of the book seems ridiculous and irrational, and the husky voice that urges him to pick it up finally wins out.

He drops onto the couch with a grunt, book gripped tightly in one hand as he loosens his bow tie and unbuttons a few buttons with the other. He spends a few minutes staring at the cover again. The first time he’d seen it, it had looked like low-budget clip art. Now though, it feels more familiar, and though he’s sure he’s never seen charcoal drawings on red paper, he somehow knows that’s exactly what this is. He lets the warmth that comes with the bone-deep recognition of the art bolster him into opening the book to the title page. 

_ Agent Otter vs The Traveler, by J.H. Bond _

He runs his fingers over the name, heart racing again, but this time in excitement instead of fear.

The dedication page is next.

_ D- _

_ Slow change may pull us apart, but I won’t ever forget about you. _

_ -J _

His breath hitches and he doesn’t know why. The words seem vaguely familiar, though he can’t place them at the moment, but it’s a single letter that gets to him. 

There’s no reasonable explanation for it, but he just knows the D is short for Deacon, and that the book is meant for him. He just  _ knows  _ it.

It’s this certainty that pushes him to turn the page and start chapter one.

/

He doesn’t put it down until ten chapters in, when Cole’s best friend from the future, José Ramos, travels back in time to prevent Cole from stopping the apocalypse, all so he can save his son’s life. Turns out, he was the titular Traveler they had been fighting against the whole time.

It should have shocked Deacon, this twist in the story where the hero’s best friend becomes the villain, but it doesn’t. He’s never read this book before, but he knew in his bones how this story was going to play out within the first few chapters. Almost as if he’d lived it before.

It’s this disturbing thought that jars Deacon back to reality. When he looks up from the book, it’s to see the early light of morning peeking through the gaps in his curtains. His eyes itch like crazy and his stomach roils. He’d not been drunk enough last night to be hungover today, but he’s certainly feeling the effects of a night of celebrating, drinking, and no sleep.

He grabs a piece of junk mail and slips it into the book to mark his place. The rest of the story can wait until he’s eaten and slept. When the husky voice in his head makes a noise of complaint, he lets out a laugh and shakes his head. “I’m not done yet. I just need some sleep,” he says as he pops some bread into the toaster, something to settle his stomach before he goes to bed.

He can very nearly hear the voice saying, “Sleep when you die, man!”

He laughs and looks up, expecting to see a pair of dark eyes in a pale face laughing back at him from across the counter. His mouth is already open, ready to reply, and he snaps it shut again, realizing the insanity of what he’s doing. He’s so tired he’s hearing voices and responding to them.

He eats his toast and falls into bed fully dressed. He’ll feel less crazy when he’s had a bit of sleep.

/

José. Cole. Cassie. Even Dr. Katherine Jones, the inventor of time travel. The characters are all familiar to him in a way he can’t explain.

There’s another character in the book, Jennifer Gaines, who calls herself ‘Primary’. She comes off as insane, but Deacon thinks she’s probably the smartest of them all. She knows things, and even though the author seems to be hinting that she’s one of the bad guys, he personally thinks she’s the least evil of them all. 

She’s who he dreams about as he sleeps.

/

He steadfastly ignores the kinship he feels with the West VII gang leader Duncan, and actually kind of hopes that jackass dies sooner rather than later. It’s not like a murderous asshole like that could ever earn redemption, anyways.

/

He knew, somehow, that the entire story wasn’t going to be concluded in this one book. It ends on a cliffhanger, with Agent Otter stuck running for his life in 2015 and Dr. Riley fighting for hers in 2043. The last page reads:

_ Coming to you soon, Book 2 in The Serpent’s Cycle: Agent Otter vs The Messengers. _

Deacon groans and rubs his forehead. He hadn’t even been interested in the story when the book had shown up, but now he’s invested. He has to know how it ends, even though something tells him it will ultimately break his heart.

“God damn it,” he mutters, pulling out his phone to see if he can find it in a local bookstore. Better yet, maybe he can get the digital copy and start reading right away.

Before he can pull up his browser, there’s a knock on his front door. Frowning, he stands up and makes his way over, wondering who would be visiting him. His brother’s leaving for his honeymoon this afternoon, and there’s really no one who would have occasion to visit him.

There’s a bored delivery man standing on his porch, holding a small package under his arm. “You Theodore William Deacon?” he asks, tone flat.

Deacon blinks. No one calls him by his first name, and he didn’t think anyone other than his brother even knew his middle name, though even he would never address anything to Deacon using his full name. His eyes narrow on the delivery man. “Who’s asking?”

The man sighs and shakes the package in front of Deacon’s face. “Look, man, I was just told to deliver  _ this  _ package to  _ this  _ house on  _ this  _ day at  _ this  _ time, and to make sure a man named Theodore William Deacon got it. Is that you or not?”

They stare each other down for another thirty seconds before Deacon nods. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Great,” the man says, tone flat as ever. “Sign here and enjoy.”

Deacon signs and watches the man go back to his truck, making sure he leaves before he heads back inside. Frowning, he heads to the kitchen for a knife to slice open the box, wondering what it could be. Had he forgotten he ordered something? Things had been pretty hectic in the weeks leading up to the wedding. It was entirely possible he’d ordered something for here or the bar and completely forgotten he’d ordered it.

The top of the box pops open and Deacon’s eyes widen in surprise when he folds the flaps out of the way and pulls out  _ Agent Otter vs The Messengers _ .

This cover is the same color as the first, only the charcoal silhouettes are of a man and a woman, Cole and Cassie he assumes, reaching for each other but separated by a line that slashes the cover in half from the bottom left to the top right corner. It’s a timeline that stretches from 1917 to 2163.

He flips open the book to the dedication page.

_ D- _

_ Will you recognize me? I recognized you before I met you. _

_ -J _

Again, the words ring a familiar bell, and again, he feels they are meant for him specifically. He bites his lip and looks over at the clock. It’s early evening, but it’s his day off, and he doesn’t need to be at the bar until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.

He lays down on the couch and starts reading.

/

He leaps up with joy, throwing a triumphant fist into the air when Jennifer stabs the manipulative Olivia and shoves her into the empty pool to bleed out and die. Jennifer is easily his favorite character and his heart sings in triumph that he was right: she is the best of all of them.

/

He ignores the snakes squirming in his stomach as the author hints at an almost-relationship between Cassie and Duncan. He doesn’t know why, but he feels empathy for the gang leader, loving a woman who will never love him in return. He shouldn’t care, because Duncan’s turned soft, gentle Cassie into a hard, ruthless fighter, but he does care, and he can’t explain the shame he feels because of it.

/

When Duncan kills Jennifer from the future timeline, Deacon throws the book across the room. Tears stream down his face and his hands shake as he paces his living room, struggling to keep his breathing even.

“It didn’t happen in this timeline, you know,” whispers that familiar, husky voice from behind him. “It wasn’t real.”

_ She’s  _ not real. He knows she’s not real, that she’s just a tired hallucination because once again, he’s stayed up all night reading. But he still answers aloud, without turning around. “I--” His head jerks and he exhales shakily. “ _ He _ killed her,” he corrects, gritting his teeth to bite back the impossible truth that wants to burst forth: I killed you.

Because it’s a story. It didn’t actually happen. He’s not a character in this book, no matter how much he feels like he might have lived it, in another life.

He takes a deep breath and sighs, dragging his hands down his face in exhaustion. It’s time to go to sleep.

He doesn’t bother picking up the book.

/

He dreams of entering a room full of people with their hands up, eyes pleading for mercy. The weight and kick of the gun in his hands doesn’t even phase him as he shoots them all down without a second thought.

“They were good!” the husky voice says, just outside his range of sight.

He shrugs and leaves her behind. “I’m not.”

He can feel her eyes boring into his back. Distantly, he feels shame that he disappointed her.

/

He leaves the book on the floor.

It’s not like what he did with the first book, ignoring its existence because he doesn’t intend to read the rest of it, too afraid to pick it up for what it might reveal to him. No, this is a different kind of avoidance.

He’s seen the way Jennifer’s story ends, and he finds he doesn’t want to keep reading the story that will lead him to that inevitable conclusion.

“Hmm,” whispers the voice, hardly audible over the din in the bar that night. “You’re not a fan of eggs?”

/

It takes another week before he picks up the book again, and when he gets to the last page, he nearly throws it back down on the ground. 

Cassie is pregnant with their enemy, the Witness, and trapped with his followers, and Jennifer has somehow landed herself in the trenches of World War I. 

At least that dick Duncan is dead, stabbed to death trying to help Jennifer escape.

/

The third and fourth book arrive at the same time, in the same manner as the second, right as he’s pulling out his phone to find  _ Agent Otter vs The Witness _ , the third book in the Cycle.

“Do you think it’s weird that instructions were left to bring your packages to you at very specific moments?” the delivery man asks. He pulls up his log and flips it around to show it to Deacon. “See? It not only says the date it’s to be delivered, but also the time. Isn’t that weird?”

Deacon signs for his package and shakes his head. “No,” he says slowly. “I think… things are happening exactly when they’re meant to happen.”

/

He doesn’t start the third book yet, just puts it and the fourth on his bedside table, ready to go for his next day off.

That night, he dreams he’s walking through a hotel lobby, carrying a briefcase with something important in it.

“Why are you doing this?” the voice whispers from behind him, horrified. “This isn’t you.”

He turns, keeping her just outside his range of sight. “It’s me. I’m exactly where I need to be.” He turns back and keeps walking for the door, whistling a song as he goes.

This time, he feels no shame, knowing his choices are ultimately keeping her safe.

/

_ D- _

_ It’s my feeling we’ll win in the end. Time owes us. _

_ -J _

/

It’s a good thing he waits until his next day off to start, because he reads the third book in one sitting, and then he starts on the fourth,  _ Agent Otter vs Time. _

He still feels fiercely protective of Jennifer, hoping against hope they can find a way to rewrite time so she doesn’t get killed, but the ice in his chest tells him that’s not the way time works; it always takes what it’s owed.

/

_ D- _

_ I’ll put us back together at heart. Or maybe we both will. See you soon? _

_ -J _

/

He has to stop a chapter in because he’s about to fall asleep. Also because he’s reached the point where he’s begrudgingly forgiven Duncan (that man is like a cockroach; he never seems to die) for killing Jennifer, and that is something he would not do if he were in his right mind.

Clearly he needs rest.

“You shoot me,” the voice whispers that night in his dreams.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it. God, does he mean it.

“You shoot me.”

“I’m apologizing!”

There’s a beat, and he can almost picture her smiling up at him. “I forgave you.”

/

He finds himself reluctant to pick the fourth book back up when he wakes the next morning. He can’t say how, but he somehow knows this is the last book, and it’s not going to end the way he wants.

Though, how can he know that when he doesn’t even know how he wants it to end?

/

_ “What’s that?” she asks. _

_ “It’s my knife,” he says, eyes steady on her. _

_ “I know, but why are you presenting it all theatrically?” Her voice quivers because she knows, but she doesn’t know, and she definitely doesn’t  _ want  _ to know. _

_ “ ‘Cause I want you to take it. It’s dangerous here.” He’s trying to keep his voice steady, but there’s something in it that says he knows too. _

_ “I don’t need it,” she says, shaking her head. _ Not when I’ve got you _ , she thinks. _

_ “Take it,” he presses. Then, gently, “For me?” _

_ She knows, but she doesn’t want to know. “Okay,” she says softly. _

_ He nods, exhaling just a little unsteadily. “One day, I’m gonna want that back.” His eyes bore into hers, sending a message she doesn’t quite understand yet. _

/

Deacon recognizes the conversation as he reads it. He can picture the scene perfectly in his mind. The way she’d fidgeted nervously across the table from him. The utter certainty he’d felt giving her the knife. He’d known he was running out of time to give it to her. There was no way he was going to make it to the end of this, and she still needed it to prove they were… friends for the final fight at Titan.

He knows what’s going to happen next, but he swallows against his dry throat and continues reading.

/

_ Dread pools in Jennifer’s stomach when he interrupts the Witness’s speech to mock her. Instead of Cole, she gestures  _ him  _ forward to be executed first.  _

_ Her throat closes with panic, head turning from side to side. She doesn’t want-- she  _ can’t  _ watch this. But she can’t look away from him either. _

_ The Witness sneers down at him as she lets him know she was manipulating him the whole time, using him to get to their friends. “My toothless bloodhound,” she mocks. “You gave away everything you could have been. For what?” _

_ He takes a breath and looks over at Cole, at Cassie, at Jones. “For them,” he tells her. Then he looks over at Jennifer and he nods, trying to comfort her. Letting her know he has no regrets, despite how it’s about to end for him. “And I’d do it again. This I know.” _

_ The Witness rolls her eyes and strolls behind him, nodding to her executioner. _

_ He locks eyes with Jennifer, breaths shallow as he waits for the sword to fall. Literally. She stares back, unblinking, eyes filled with tears. “No, no,” she can’t stop herself from murmuring, eyes spilling over. He watches her eyes widen, hears the sound of metal parting the air, and-- _

/

“What the fuck!” Deacon yells, wiping the tears off his face as he leaps up, flipping quickly through the rest of the pages.

They’re all blank.

“What happened next? What the fuck!” he says again, pacing around his living room as he flips through the pages again, more slowly, as if they won’t still be blank. “Piece of shit, defective copy!” He tosses it on the table with a growl and picks up his tablet.

Furious, he opens a browser and searches for the book. One way or another, he’s finding out what happened to his friends, to Jennifer, tonight.

Only, when he searches for the book, he can’t find it anywhere. His brow creases as he searches for the series title, the author, each individual book, and nothing pops up. It’s as if the story doesn’t exist.

“No, no,” he says quietly, and he can see Jennifer in his mind, perfectly picture her saying the same thing in the moments before she watched him die. He needs to find a copy of this damn book so he can make sure… so he knows she made it out of 1491 alive.

“Oh, but you already  _ know  _ how I died,” her voice whispers in his mind. “You were instrumental in that event.”

Deacon scowls and steadfastly ignores her, nearly growling when he just hears the echo of her laugh.

When more searches turn up more of nothing, he picks up the book again, opening it back up to the last scene. He turns every individual page, one at a time, running his fingers carefully down each one, looking for answers, heart sinking lower every time he fails to find anything.

And then he gets to the final page. The text is small, much smaller than the book’s normal font, and printed in a lighter ink, but it’s something.

_ Thanks for participating in The Serpent’s Cycle! For more information, please visit my webpage at primaryloveinterestnotaredshirt.com! I look forward to seeing you again! _

His lips curl up and he shakes his head as he types the website into his browser. His heart races while he waits for it to load, then stops when he sees it start to redirect somewhere else.

“No!” he says, stopping the page from loading and typing the words in again. He does it slowly, making sure to copy it exactly as it’s written in the book. When he hits enter, it loads and starts to redirect again.

He sighs and stops it from loading again. He’d really thought…

He collapses down onto the couch and leans back, dropping the tablet into his lap. Staring up at the ceiling, he considers the emotional gamut he’d run over the last fifteen minutes.

“I’m insane,” he says, nodding to himself. “I’m overidentifying with a character in a sci-fi novel, remembering things that never happened, loves that never existed, and losing my mind.” He frowns, letting out a shaky sigh. “Jennifer Goines never existed,” he asserts.

His brain catches up to his mouth a half a minute later and his breath hitches. Jennifer  _ Goines  _ was not the name of the woman in the book. 

Hands shaking, he pulls up the browser on his tablet again and types in her name.

He nearly sobs when her picture pops up, smiling and waving as she stands next to a unicorn. “She was real,” he whispers, clicking on the link to her biography. Daughter of Leland Goines, former CEO of the Markridge Group, bioengineer of the unicorn. 

He clicks play on the first available video, an interview she gave when she revealed her unicorn to the world.

“Miss Goines,” the reporter asks. “How do you feel about having left your position as CEO of the Markridge Group to pursue this project? A lot of people doubted you’d be able to do it.”

Jennifer shakes her head, a small smile quirking her lips as she looks right into the camera and says, “Think of your life like the internet. Sometimes, the page redirects you for a reason. Who are you to ignore it, not-a-red-shirt?” She winks, clicking her mouth as she does so.

Deacon drops the tablet, leaping up from the couch in shock. Half a second later, he’s scrambling to type the website back into his browser.

It redirects him to the webpage of the scientist who invented teleportation, Dr. Katarina Jones.

“Oh,” he says, and his heart leaps because he thinks he finally understands.

/

It takes him a week to settle some things with the bar, say his goodbyes, and pack a bag. 

Jones answers his knock on her front door almost immediately. “Mr. Deacon,” she says, lips twitching.

“Jones,” he nods. “You know who I am.”

She nods, holding the door open wider for him to come in. “We’ve all started remembering. At least, those of us who ever used my machine seem to be remembering.”

He enters, following as she leads him into her living room, mind racing. “Cassie? Cole? Hannah?”

Jones’ lips twitch again, more wry this time. “Cassie’s remembered since 2018, as has Cole, though their situation is a bit different from ours. Hannah and I are just now starting to remember, as is Elliot.”

Deacon nods, swallows hard and says tentatively, “Have you heard from Jennifer?”

She nods and allows her smile to grow. “She comes by for dinner at least once a month. I saw her just last week and she told me she’s remembered the whole time. Because she’s--”

“Primary,” Deacon finishes with a nod. He takes a deep breath. “She sent me here. Do you know why?”

Jones studies him for a long moment, smile softening. “The technology I developed to teleport is similar to the technology I created to time travel. They go hand-in-hand, you see. Travel in space is nearly the same as travel in space and time.”

He lets his breath out slowly, mind racing. Jones waits patiently, watching as he thinks through what he wants to say. “Does she want me to go back for her?” he says slowly.

Her face is a mask. “We’ve learned we have to be careful with time travel,” she says. “There are certain rules, and it would be a one-way trip. Do  _ you  _ want to go back?”

He’s thought of nothing else for the last week. If he had the chance, would he want to go back to 2018? Would he want to see her again and finally ask her out and maybe, just maybe, spend the rest of his time on this planet with her?

The answer came more quickly than he would have guessed. “Yes.”

Jones nods and says, “Come with me.”

He follows, no hesitation.

**2018**

He has to close his eyes against the bright light when he arrives, struggling to adjust to the abrupt change; Jones’ lab had been dark. With his sight shot for the moment, Deacon tunes into his other senses to find out where he’s landed. The ground shifts beneath him. There’s salt in the air and the sound of lapping water nearby. He hears wind shifting through tall grass and seagulls. A beach, then.

He groans as he opens his eyes to a squint to further assess his surroundings, turning slowly to look over the sea and dunes. He doesn’t even know how he’s going to find--

Her.

He stops when he sees her sitting in a beach chair nearby. “Of all the gin joints in all the world,” she drawls, lips twitching.

“You’re here,” he says dumbly.

Jennifer’s smile widens. She nods and stands up. “In the flesh. Good of Time to drop you two off at the same place only a day apart, huh? Gave me time to sit out and work on my tan.” She holds her arms out as if to check their color, leans over to take a good look at her legs.

“You sent for me,” he says, taking a step closer.

She stands up straight again, shaking her head. “No, I think you’ll find  _ you  _ sent for you. I was just tasked with writing the dedications and picking up the package.”

“What?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, eyes trained on her as she strides up to him.

“Oh, you didn’t know,” she says, biting her lip. She leans in, face an inch from his and whispers, “That’s alright. We’ve still got about a quarter of a century to figure it out.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans in and kisses him.

**2042**

It starts with a book.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until now!” Deacon grumbles, slipping his glasses on and pulling up a blank word document. He can already feel how badly his back is going to ache from all the time he’ll have to spend at the computer over the next few months.

“I forgot to remember to tell you until now,” Jennifer says with a shrug.

Her utter surety that things will always work out how they’re supposed to is endearing most of the time, but when it comes to this… This is the most important task he’ll ever need to complete, and he feels like he’s been given it at the eleventh hour. “They need to be ready before my 40th birthday,” he says. “That’s less than a year to write four books.”

Her eyes bug out at the panic in his tone and she laughs. “Hey, Chicken! Egg already read them, so you  _ know  _ you can do it. You lived it, too! You know how they go.”

He huffs, fighting the smile that wants to emerge at her absolute faith in him. Alright, it’s still endearing. It will always be endearing. He’s yet to say anything though, so she rolls her eyes and plops herself down in his lap, draping herself across him dramatically.

“Alright, fine,” she says. “I’ll help you get started on the title.” She purses her lips as she searches his face. “Otter Eyes and the Fellowship of the Ring,” she suggests, brow furrowed in thought.

His lips quirk and he shakes his head. “What about calling him an agent?”

“Agent Otter Eyes and the Fellowship of the Ring?” she questions, tilting her head.

He pinches her side and she has to bite her lip to tamp down on her laugh. “Agent Cole Otter,” he starts.

She gasps and straightens, holding up a single finger. He has to wrap his arms around her waist to stop her falling off his lap. “Agent Otter and the Traveler! No!  _ Versus  _ the Traveler!”

He hums consideringly, forehead pressed into her shoulder. Finally, he lifts his head to give her a peck on the lips. “I think that’s a damn good title.”


	2. Deleted Scenes

**Deleted Scene 1**

“It’s a microdose; enough to get you there, but not enough to keep you from aging naturally,” Jones says as she injects him. “One and done.”

Deacon nods, gritting his teeth against the unfamiliar-familiar pain of the injection.

She directs him to the platform and nods at him to stand in the middle. There’s no chair, since the technology as she had presented it to the world is for teleporting objects, not living beings. “Though it’s perfectly safe for humans,” she had assured him.

He watches as she turns away to head for her computer, ready to send him to 2018, but before she gets there he steps off the platform, hands wringing the strap on his duffle, and blurts, “Wait!”

Jones turns around, eyebrow raised in surprise. “What is it, Mr. Deacon?”

His mouth opens to respond, but it takes him a moment to find the words. He settles on ones he’s already spoken. “ _ Does _ she want me to go back for her?” 

Her face gives nothing away. “I believe Ms. Goines would ask you the same question I did.” She pauses before she continues, mouth quirking. “She would also remind you that the right ending is the one you choose.”

He sighs and nods; that  _ is  _ something Jennifer would say. “Okay.”

Jones makes her way over to the console, donning her goggles. She types in a series of commands and looks up at him with a smile. “I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Deacon. Initiate splinter sequence!” he hears her yell over the unfamiliar-familiar hum of the machine. There’s a flash of blue light and--

///

**Deleted Scene 2**

_ There’s half a second between when José lunges toward him to slap the gun out of the way and when he pulls the trigger by reflex. _

_ Half a second is all it takes. _

_ The bullet streaks not toward his enemy, but toward his ally. _

_ Jennifer falls, hands clenched around her abdomen. _

Deacon sighs and leans away from the computer, rubbing a hand over his unblemished cheek. He can feel the phantom sting of Hannah’s blade. 

“I thought you wrote the books and sent them to me as a sign,” he says, squeezing Jennifer’s ankles. 

He hadn’t told her the scene he’d be writing today, but she’d shown up, plopped herself down on the floor next to his desk, and laid down, propping her feet in his lap. While he’s been writing, she’s been sketching out potential book covers. 

“Hmm,” she intones. “And what sign did you think I was sending you?” She doesn’t look up at him, just continues sketching.

He chuckles. “I thought you were telling me you wanted me to come back to you. Literally.”

She hums again. “Isn’t that what I did?” she asks idly. 

“Jen, I was always going to remember everything,” he reminds her, thinking of Jones, who’s been giving them and Cassie and Cole odd looks lately. She’s finally starting to remember. “Mysteriously appearing books or not.”

Jennifer hums in agreement and drops her sketchbook onto her chest to look up at him. “But would you have asked to come back, if there hadn’t been something giving you hope that I wanted you to?”

He opens his mouth to say yes, of course, but pauses to think about it. His mouth snaps shut as he tilts his head, wondering.

She nods, picks up her sketchbook, and smiles. “Exactly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated! Find me [on tumblr](https://islndgurl777.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
